


Quantum Observation

by AliceInKinkland



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Episode: s04e05 Supersymmetry, F/F, One Night Stands, episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4422746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInKinkland/pseuds/AliceInKinkland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Lilah is forced to re-evaluate her position on one of the doey-eyed girls of Angel Investigations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for Lilah's weird canonical obsession with bodyshaming Fred.

In all honesty—not that honesty is something Lilah Morgan makes a habit of—Lilah is probably as surprised at seeing Fred as Fred appears to be at seeing Lilah. Lilah’s just considerably better at hiding it than the human toothpick standing in front of her, eyes looking torn between dinner-plate-wide shock and narrowed suspicion. Lilah smiles a bit more genuinely at the thought. It’s so much more enjoyable to think up insults when you’re face to face with the object of your loathing instead of all on your lonesome.

Lilah would know, after an hour spent alone pacing Wesley’s apartment, discovering the extent of his disturbingly large and damningly specific collection of physics journals. Not that she would admit it to anyone—except the mind readers in her office, but that can’t be helped—but Fred’s knock on Wes’s door may have coincided with a certain train of thought concerning whether greeting Wes with pigtails and a Texan accent would fall under the category of “wickedly perverse” or “desperate.” So. This is an improvement. Here comes the very girl who’s messing with Lilah’s mind, ripe for Lilah to mess with right back.

“Looking for Wes?”

“What are you doing here, Lilah?” The Toothpick crosses her arms. Lilah recognizes the gesture—insecurity masked in layers of bravado. Lilah’s better at it, though.

Lilah shrugs, faux casual. “Waiting for your estranged friend to come home. Thought I’d surprise him. I’m just trying to decide—would I look better with or without clothes, today?”

“Ha ha, very funny. Wesley would never—“

“Oh, he already has, sweetie. Check the bathroom—he even keeps an extra toothbrush for me.” (Trust Wes to keep a stock of backup toiletries on hand even in the middle of a melodramatic breakdown. Lilah remembers he seemed mildly surprised that she would need to do something as human as brush her teeth, which she supposes she should find offensive).

Either Fred doesn’t care about Wesley’s sex life—unlikely, even with those innocent eyes—or she’s got something greater on her mind, however, because she does not acknowledge Lilah’s toothbrush factoid. Instead, she asks, “Do you know when he’s going to be home?”

“I’m racking my brain for a reason I’d tell you that, and I just can’t come up with a single one.”

Fred sighs. She looks very tired. “If I try to come in, will you stop me?”

“Now why would I do that?” Lilah’s even gladder than before that she returned the Collected Works of Winifred Burkle, Physicist to the magazine rack on the shelf over Wesley’s weapons cabinet before she opened the door. Because here comes the little genius in question herself, over the threshold and across to the bookshelf, one hand removing a crossbow from her messenger bag and pointing it at Lilah, the other tracing the spines of books like a hungry spider desperate for something to catch in its empty web.

“Looking for something specific?” Lilah enjoys asking obvious questions. It’s one of the easiest ways to set people on edge.

“If I told you, would you help me find it?”

“And help you fight the good fight, save the world? Oh golly! It’s what I’ve always dreamed of.”

Fred sighs again. Her hand is shaking against the leather-bound volumes before her, but she holds the crossbow steady. “And help me open a portal to a demon dimension, actually, and push someone in.”

It’s the second time in the space of ten minutes that Lilah has been very surprised. “Oh?”

Fred shakes her head. “I’m not in the mood to entertain you with some exciting tale of my moral downfall, Lilah. Please. Do you know where he keeps the books on portals?”

Lilah points to a section one shelf down from where Fred is currently looking. “Did you have a certain vacation destination in mind?”

“Pylea.”

“Oh—that’s where you were, isn’t it? Five years, is that right? I’ve heard it’s a very pretty dimension, except for the lack of music. I wouldn’t know though. Never been. The firm tends to send non-human representatives.”

Fred laughs, the sound utterly humourless. “They would.” She opens the first book one-handed, looks at the back, then begins to flip pages, her search for an index obviously fruitless.

Lilah presses on. She’s beginning to see the outline of Fred’s plan, and if it’s what Lilah suspects, she may need to re-evaluate her position on this particular doey-eyed girl of Angel Investigations. “What is it they call humans in that dimension?” she asks, finger to chin in mock consternation. “I just can’t seem to remember.”

Fred slams the book shut. “If you’re not gonna help, you could at least be quiet.” She picks up the next book and performs another futile index search.

“Oh, far be it from me to interfere with a revenge plot,” says Lilah, sitting down on the edge of Wesley’s sofa. “Because that’s what this is, right? That professor of yours? You know, Angel was convinced _I_ was behind the surprise portal at your little geek fest.”

“Son of a bitch sent me to Pylea. Let’s see how he likes it—the hunger, the collar, the forgetting you’re a person.” Fred’s voice is hard and cold, and for the first time Lilah thinks she sees a glimpse of the girl who survived all that, and who presumably did some pretty nasty things in the course of that survival. Lilah’s seen the file—she knows intellectually that Fred isn’t an opponent to underestimate—but all that is very different from finding herself suddenly face to face with the side of this girl that got her through five years in what was practically hell.

“Oh, I like it. Very poetic.” _And a step up from keeping the woman who slit your throat locked in your closet for a bit, only to let her go once she helped you_ , thinks Lilah. She is still incredibly disappointed at Wes’s lack of follow-through on that one.

Fred’s phone buzzes. “Don’t answer it,” says Lilah at once. Fred looks quizzical, which is disappointing, really. “Could be your favourite prof, beating you at the portal game. Magic via text message. Emerging field. Looks to be very profitable.”

“Right,” says Fred, keeping the crossbow trained on Lilah. “But wouldn’t you like me sucked through a portal? Leave you alone with—”

“Wesley?”

“I was gonna say all your plans about Angel, but yeah, that too.” Fred eyes her phone but does not flip it open.

“No, honey, I want you right here, doing terrible things while I watch.” _And hey, increasing my chance for a quarterly bonus by quite a bit, if I can prove I played a part in whatever seeds of discord this sows in Angel’s merry band of do-gooders._

Fred looks frightened all of a sudden, and Lilah remembers the part of Fred’s inspiring tale of survival against the odds where she started writing on walls and trying to make tacos out of tree bark. But then Twig Girl straightens up, crosses her arms without lowering the crossbow, and says, “If you’re so excited to witness my corruption, will you drive me to the UCLA physics building?”

“Absolutely,” says Lilah. “Isn’t evil fun?”

* * *

Fred is farther from the Hyperion than Lilah expected. She’s in line in front of a taco stand, because of course she is. Something has clearly gone wrong.

“Let me guess—revenge didn’t taste as sweet as you expected?” Lilah gets in line beside Fred, ignoring the protests from the man behind them. “I’ve heard that happens sometimes, when you, well, care about other people. Very unfortunate.”

“Hi, can I have one of each kind of taco you got? And d’you have any more horchata, this time of night?” Fred smiles at the man behind the counter, ignoring Lilah. She opens her wallet, but Lilah beats her to it, slapping a fifty onto the sticky countertop. Fred glares at her.

“Or,” says Lilah, “maybe one of your white hat friends stopped you. I can just picture it—all those men, falling over themselves to make sure you don’t sully your pure little soul.” To the man, she says, “Keep the change.”

“I don’t need anyone comfortin’ me, and if I did, you’d be practically the last person in the whole world I’d want.” Fred stabs the lid of her drink with a straw, collects her food, and walks over to the nearest bench. Lilah follows.

“Oh good. I’ve never been a very comforting person.”

“What do you want, Lilah?”

What does Lilah want? She came here with the intention to gloat, yes, but also with some other, vaguer impulse, one that pounds through her body now that the two are sitting beside each other on the bench, Lilah just a little closer to Fred than Fred seems comfortable with. It’s an impulse to conquer, but it’s also an impulse to understand, to get whatever it is about this girl that people keep falling for, and that need to acquire knowledge, Lilah thinks, is one way she and Fred are alike.

When Lilah fails to respond immediately, Fred says, “Is this what you did with Wes? Waited until he was down, pounced, and called that a seduction?”

“When I offered Wes a job it was because he’d demonstrated talents that impressed my firm. So far all you have to show for yourself is quite a few botched portal-related misadventures.”

“Not job offer seduction. You know what I mean.” If Lilah’s not mistaken, Fred just rolled her eyes.

“Why—are you thinking of taking me up on this supposed offer?”

Fred’s eyes are telegraphing more distinct emotions than Lilah allows herself to show in a year. Lilah is starting to understand the fascination people seem to have with those eyes. And that body—it promises to be rather gorgeous, lack of curves notwithstanding. Lilah isn’t sure what idea excites her more—the image of her hands pinning those skinny wrists, or of those delicate fingers exploring her flesh.

“If you kill me, Angel will kill you.”

“Good thing I’m not planning on killing you.”

Fred looks directly at Lilah, then, licking salsa off her finger for longer than is strictly necessary. Lilah gets the sense of wheels turning, cogs spinning, computers churning out ticker-tape rolls of numbers. “Is this about my supposed innocence? Are you gonna treat me like I’m breakable, like I’m some cute little porcelain doll?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. As I’m sure Wes can tell you, I like things a little rough.”

“Don’t. Don’t talk about any of them. Please. I’ll need to stop if you talk about any of them.”

“You’ll need to stop what?” says Lilah, raising her eyebrows. If Little Miss Texas Twig wants to explore her dark side, Lilah isn’t about to do all the work. She supposes that’s another thing that should probably offend her, that she’s becoming the woman anyone in Angel’s crew can use to scratch their itch for moral ambiguity, but she really can’t bring herself to feel anything but excitement at the prospect.

“Need to stop this,” says Fred, her voice breathy and low all of a sudden, her body leaning in until their lips touch. And Fred’s got a hint of the adorable clumsiness Lilah expected, but she’s mostly just a pretty good kisser. Some small part of Lilah expected the world to implode at the press of their lips, at the slightest mingling of the two opposing poles of Wesley’s Madonna/whore complex personified, but Lilah’s probably just spent so long working on the Senior Partners’ pet projects that everything seems like a harbinger of the apocalypse.

Lilah grips Fred’s wrist—and yes, she does feel a surge of heat at the way her hand wraps so easily around Fred’s stick-thin arm, at the press of bone into her comparatively fleshy palm—and yanks Fred to her feet, sending her empty Styrofoam take out container flying. Fred looks like she wants to pick it up and throw it out properly, because that’s probably the kind of thing she cares about, but Lilah pulls them both to the edge of the sidewalk and hails a cab. Better do this fast, before the fact that they hate each other resumes its residence at the forefront of both their minds.


	2. Chapter 2

Fred doesn’t seem to want to talk, which is fine by Lilah. Truthfully, Lilah can’t think of a single thing to say that isn’t mean-spirited enough to risk making Fred bolt, and that hardly seems like a risk worth taking, what with all the places Fred is putting her mouth.

Fred nips lightly at Lilah’s breast, swirling her tongue in a slow circle until Lilah can feel her nipple hardening. She rewards Fred with a series of scratches from mid back to shoulder blade, and Fred groans and bites down harder. Lilah feels both impressed and discomfited at Fred’s willingness for roughness; there’s a certain perverse satisfaction in seeing a side of Wes’s dream girl who’s considerably less the blushing virgin than the one he appears to fantasize about, but there’s also an element of terror to the notion that maybe Fred can do some of the things Lilah can. Lilah digs her nails into the back of Fred’s neck in retaliation for the brief surge of fear she feels at that thought.

Fred begins biting and licking her way down Lilah’s stomach, and Lilah entangles her hand in Fred’s hair, not gripping hard, but keeping that option on the table. Fred hooks her fingers under the sides of Lilah’s panties and pulls them off, tossing them on the floor next to Lilah’s skirt, blouse, and bra, and Fred’s sundress.

Lilah balks momentarily at their differing levels of nakedness until she realizes she’s still wearing stockings, then smiles; she feels somewhat calmer at the reminder that she’s the kind of woman who always puts her (well-made, expensive) underwear on over her garter belt, while the girl in front of her favours plain cotton panties and the kind of bra that barely qualifies as anything more than a camisole.

Lilah can’t figure out why she feels so off her game until Fred’s tongue licks a confident line from her clit down to her opening, Fred’s fingers neatly parting Lilah’s labia. Then it hits her. Fact is, Lilah’s never done this before, not really. Sure, she’s kissed women now and again, and flirts with entities of all genders (both human and not) when it suits her purposes, and once, back in law school, even went on a date with a girl, although that girl’s encyclopedic knowledge of disfiguring curses made Lilah a little too uneasy to pursue the relationship any further. But she’s never actually eaten someone out, and judging from the way Fred’s diving in, the Twig definitely has, dammit.

It’s hard to worry too much as Fred’s tongue settles into a rhythm, however, so Lilah lets herself enjoy the sensation—the way Fred alternately laps at her centre and sucks firmly on her clit, the soft sounds she makes when Lilah tightens her grip in her hair.

“That’s—yes, there,” says Lilah, losing herself momentarily in Fred’s ministrations, then adds, “I guess you’ve made up for your general lack of sex appeal by working on your actual bedroom skills. Honestly, it’s very inspiring.” Fred lifts her head, protest on her lips, but Lilah pushes Fred’s mouth back onto her cunt, muffling whatever Fred had been about to say, and OK, she feels much happier now that she’s got the upper hand once again.

Lilah takes her time with her pleasure, closing her eyes and letting her free hand wander to her own breast as Fred’s tongue grows more firm and purposeful. She enjoys the feeling of her own warmth meeting the warmth of Fred’s mouth, the sharp pinch of Fred’s nails digging into her hips, the thought of Fred’s face covered in Lilah’s juices. Lilah pulls on her nipple as she comes, hooking a leg over Fred’s shoulder to pin Fred’s body firmly between her legs as she rides out her orgasm.

Their kiss afterwards is sharp and biting, and Lilah’s wetness tastes bitter in her own mouth. She pushes Fred off her and down on her back on the mattress, pinning her to the bed with a palm to her chest. She pushes Fred’s bra up and out of the way and flicks at Fred’s already-erect nipples, smirking at the way Fred’s hips rise at the contact.

Lilah feels less nervous now that Fred is disheveled and panting beneath her; Fred’s not a hard girl to read, and judging by her wide eyes and the way she’s biting her lip, Lilah’s definitely on the right track when it comes to figuring out the best ways to touch her. Lilah has the sudden urge to slap Fred across the face, but she slaps Fred’s tits instead, feeling her cunt begin to heat up once again as Fred whimpers and squirms, trying to grind against Lilah’s slightly out-of-reach knee. Lilah presses her hand more firmly against Fred’s chest as her other hand pushes Fred’s panties to the side.

She’s met with slick wetness, and she pushes one finger into Fred almost before she means to. Fred’s cunt immediately clenches around it, and Lilah quickly adds another. She realizes her nails are probably scratching Fred slightly—fingering possibilities aren’t really her top concern when she goes for her weekly manicure—but Fred doesn’t seem to mind, so Lilah curves her fingers and strokes, settling her thumb tentatively against Fred’s clit. Encouraged by the frantic movement of Fred’s hips, Lilah increases her pace and pressure, her own breathing speeding up in time with Fred’s as Fred’s orgasm overtakes her.

Fred appears to be biting back tears, but Lilah, for once, doesn’t feel the urge to comment. Not right this minute, anyway, especially since Fred’s hands are reaching for Lilah in a way that suggests she isn’t ready for this to be over just yet.

* * *

 

“So I guess this is when you insult me, and I leave, and then you wait for the right moment to bring this up in front of everyone I care about to humiliate me,” Fred says afterwards, collecting her clothes from the floor of Lilah’s bedroom.

“Sounds about right.” Lilah watches Fred turning her sundress right side in. “Did it make you feel better?”

“Do you care?”

“I’m curious.”

Fred stops slipping back into her dress and stares at Lilah. Her face is thoughtful, fresh bite marks on her shoulders and neck taking away nothing from the softness of her expression. “I never thought I’d say this, but thank you. For, y’know, treating me like a person.”

Lilah sighs. She’s beginning to remember why her Fred-related fantasies are usually less about feeling Fred’s tongue on her body and more about cutting it off and feeding it to her. “I don’t remember signing up for the touching female bonding moment.”

“Right. I’ll just get goin’ then.” Fred pulls the dress on over her head, grabs her shoulder bag, and walks to the door.

In her first year of undergrad, Lilah took a class on quantum physics, the kind made for arts students to satisfy breadth requirements. The one thing Lilah remembers is that at the quantum level, particles can exist in two opposing states at once, but only until they are observed, at which point the whole thing collapses into something boringly simple and explainable. Lilah is pleased to discover this isn’t the case with Fred, that if anything the little goody-two-shoes seems more complex to Lilah than she did before today. After all, where’s the fun in having a rival who never does anything to surprise you?


End file.
